


Powerful

by forever_nerd



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Chloe Decker loves the devil, Devil worship fic, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Freckles, Love Bites, Massage, Oral Sex, Post Season 4, THE BUM, post hell fic, soft devil, taking care of the Devil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forever_nerd/pseuds/forever_nerd
Summary: When Chloe unexpectantly finds that the Devil has returned all she wants is to take care of him.In many, different ways.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 40
Kudos: 241





	Powerful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venividivictorious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venividivictorious/gifts), [elleflies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleflies/gifts), [thepoisonofgod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepoisonofgod/gifts).



> This fic was inspired by one of @thepoisonofgod's amazing works. (You can sneak a peek at the end!)  
> Thanks to a lovely chat with the FH people this came to be!

_I couldn't leave even if I wanted to_ _  
Cause something keeps pulling me back to you  
From the very first time we loved  
From the very first time we touched  
The stroke of your fingers  
The scent of your lingers  
My mind roaming wild  
The thoughts of your smile  
Oh, you gotta give me some  
Or you can give it all  
But it's never enough no_

_There's an energy_ _  
When you hold me  
When you touch me  
It's so powerful_

_I can feel it_ _  
When you hold me  
When you touch me  
It's so powerful_

It’s been more than a year since Lucifer left. 416 days, in case anyone is asking. Which they aren’t.

If you ask Chloe though it feels much, _much_ longer than that. She feels as if she is trapped in her very own hell-loop, destined to spend all her days without him, punishment for all those horrible decisions she had made.

These thoughts however, she keeps to herself.

She has done the dating thing to appease the people in her life- pretending to show interest in men that she found utterly lacking.

Lacking not in vague, indeterminable ways.

No, they were all lacking a very specific quality.

They were not _Lucifer_.

Her insufferable man-child of a partner, her best friend.

The sweetest devil, who had managed to find his way into her heart, claiming it for his own.

(And then locking the door behind him and throwing away the key for good measure.)

She sighs miserably.

She misses him _horribly_.

It’s an ever present pain, one that has burrowed so deep in her heart that has now become part of her.

Flesh of her flesh.

Blood of her blood.

She has learnt to live with it. Most of the times her hectic life dulls the ache, while others it roars to life and like a beast, it consumes her, bite after painful bite until there is nothing left of her but the lingering sensation of pain.

Long stakeouts, quiet mornings at the precinct, lonely nights…

Unfortunately, she has too many opportunities to make up endless little scenarios of what ifs and missed chances, too many opportunities to reflect on her longing, a craving that is deeper than the deepest seas, darker than the spaces between stars.

Too many times she has crammed herself inside the precinct toilets to cry, wiping away tears and swallowing sobs that she found impossible to keep at bay, missing him, _missing_ him so bad that it hurt to breathe.

Too many times Trixie has caught her sobbing into her pillow in the dead of night, unable to accept this new reality she has been served with.

But she doesn’t just pine after him. She’s mad, too.

Always so rash, he left before they had a chance to even consider an alternative.

They were partners _dammit_. It could have been just another puzzle for them to solve, had he given them a chance.

But no, not Lucifer; ruled by his impulsiveness and his tendency to the dramatic, there was simply no other possible solution from his perspective.

_They must have a King._

And so he had left, sacrificing their happiness so as to keep them safe.

It was selfless and noble and she both _hated_ it and _loved_ it.

Chloe parks the car and lets out a long, tired exhale.

She feels so terribly exhausted.

Spending one’s Friday night stuck in a car, waiting, hoping for the barest scrap of action (when nothing ever happens) was hardly considered fun or relaxing. Plus all those empty hours had to be filled with something, but even _that_ in her case meant more angst, more guilt, more heartache.

She gets out of the car, her phone, keys and gun the only things carrying with her.

She hasn’t come here for almost two months.

Her last visit was on the night that marked a year since his departure. It was a night spent in a drunken haze and too many tears.

She may or may not have ranted at God from the balcony.

(She did. She definitely did.)

She sat on his piano, fingers slowly plucking the melody of Heart and Soul, the sound made even more awful due to the fact that no one had tuned the piano for so long.

Again and again she played the notes as if the tune was some sort of summoning spell for the Devil himself. No luck though. The night had given way to the light of dawn, which found her with a pounding headache and an equally, if not more, broken heart (truth be told she had put a lot of faith in her made-up summoning spell).

Now she is back, and like all the other times she has visited his penthouse in this last year, she is seeking sanctuary from her harsh reality.

Here, she can pretend that if she let her face sink deep into his pillows, she could still smell him.

Here, with the taste of his favourite whiskey on her tongue, she can pretend that if she wandered in his closet she might find him buttoning up a shirt or choosing cufflinks.

(In her play pretend she always helps him put them on.)

So, she has returned to drink and smell and dream, and she cannot wait to have a hot bath and slip into one of his shirts, soft and perfect and still somehow smelling of him.

She punches in the code she herself has set, and the elevator slowly takes her up to her little haven of broken hearts.

The penthouse is awash in the light of the pale morning sun and her lips still form his name in a whisper, a habit of the past, as the elevator doors close behind her.

At the bar she pours herself a shot of whiskey, trying to get rid of her tension and takes care of her gun, unloading it and placing the safety on.

She kicks off her shoes and takes off her jacket making her way to the bathroom, eager to have the stench of the night off of her.

But the sight she is met with stops her dead in her tracks. For one horrible moment she feels like her heart has stopped beating altogether but then it jumpstarts again, fast, _too_ fast and the sound of it is so loud that she feels dizzy with it.

There, lying perpendicular on his bed is one very naked Devil.

She turns around, her back to those ridiculous stone walls and closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath and for good measure pinches viciously the skin of her forearm.

“Motherf—“ she almost curse-whispers and turns to the bed again.

He’s still there, sleeping peacefully, his legs tangled up in the blanket while the rest of him is stark naked.

She moves slowly, as if he might disappear the moment she reaches him and very carefully touches his shoulder blade.

He is solid and warm and right _here_ and if this is a dream, if this is _not_ real she never wants to wake up.

Her eyes well up with tears that spill unceremoniously down her cheeks.

She has no idea if he has returned for good or why he hasn’t called her but her joy is so violent that it hurts almost as much as his absence had.

She takes a few steps back and leans against the wall and just _looks_.

She thought she would never see him again.

And there he is in all his glory, spread out for her eyes only.

Would he mind her wandering eyes? She doesn’t think he would.

Doesn’t think he will.

Because he’s here now, isn’t he?

More tears run down her cheeks and her heart still clenches in pain, a different sort of pain; one full of fear and hope and longing.

The soft sunlight caresses his skin and she drinks him in greedily.

His broad shoulders,

the beautiful curve of his spine

and that absolutely delicious _bum_.

She feels her face going scarlet and bites her lip, embarrassment and desire making for a heady combination.

She always felt like a terrible voyeur whenever he paraded his naked body before her eyes and this moment right now should be the worst of all, but strangely it’s not.

She doesn’t know how he feels-if he still—

But he has never felt more _hers_ than now.

Her eyes take in the details-all those lovely freckles scattered on his body and all she can think is that she wants to follow them across his body with fingers and lips.

She moves closer again, unable to stay away and kneels by the side of the bed where his head lays. She closes her eyes and focuses on his steady breathing and his intoxicating smell.

She leans closer and places a small kiss on the nape of his neck. His breathing stutters and her name leaves his lips, his voice far lovelier than what she remembered, those two syllables as soft and reverent as always.

Her lips haven’t spread this wide in a smile for so long that her cheeks hurt but she doesn’t care. That small whisper is fuel enough to move closer, to kiss, to touch.

The mattress dips under her weight and she places her lips at the curve of his shoulder, chasing after a specific freckle, lips soft and wet from her tears.

He makes a sound in the back of his throat that makes her cheeks grow hotter, that makes something very familiar unfurl low in her belly.

“Lucifer,” she whispers, hating that she is waking him up but needing him awake at the same time.

“Lucifer, can you wake up for me?” she whispers softly at the shell of his ear and then kisses him on his temple. She runs her fingers through untamed curls as she stands behind him and he lets out another satisfied sound.

“Mmmmm,” he sighs and then frowns slightly, eyes slowly blinking open. She can feel his muscles tense up suddenly and he stands at once, body angled so that he can face her.

He blinks, confused, disoriented and then it all melts away when he calls out her name, the way he always did, like a prayer, like a secret shared only between the two of them.

She can’t help herself-doesn’t care if he’s naked and she stinks, doesn’t care about anything other than the fact that he is here and said her name like that.

She falls into him, almost knocking him on his ass, and wraps her arms tightly around his neck. His arms follow suit and encircle her torso, pulling her even closer to him.

“Chloe,” he whispers, voice hoarse, heavy with tears and it’s all it takes to lose her precious, tenuous control over her emotions.

“You’re back, you’re back,” she whispers among her tears, his chest under her cheek solid and warm and so very real.

“Please don’t cry darling,” he begs and she can feel his lips on the crown of her head.

She tilts her head up and _God_ she has missed his stupidly handsome face so damn much. She knows she must look like a mess- eyes red rimmed and face etched with the lines of her tiredness but he doesn’t hesitate.

He closes the gap between them slowly and their lips meet with such tenderness that her heart swells with all these emotions that she has kept repressed all this time, more tears slipping from the corners of her eyes.

He falls back into the bed, taking her with him and she laughs, delighted, elated at the turn of events. They lie on their sides, arms clinging to each other, smiles soft and eyes locked.

“You’re back,” she says, voice curling at the end, turning it into a question.

“I am,” he says and leans in to kiss the tip of her nose. “I was going to come find you once I woke up. I was just so bloody knackered—

But wait. How long has it been?”

“A little over a year. 416 days. For you?”

“You… counted?” he asks, surprise evident on his beautiful face. What does she have to do to make him _see_?

“Of course I counted! I missed you. I missed you _a lot_. And even that feels like a horrible understatement. I still—

Um, how long has it been for _you_?” she asks instead, prepared for the worst now that she knows a few things about Hell.

“A few centuries give or take. I lost count at some point,” he says and it’s a slap to the face. She knew it would be longer but not _this_.

Not _hundreds_ of years.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she apologises again and again, her eyes too wet, making everything blurry.

“Sshh,” he soothes. “You have nothing to apologise for. I would do it again and again if it meant keeping you safe. Now, stop crying and look at me, for I have been without your eyes too long.”

She wipes away tears, takes a few deep breaths and just lies next to him.

And they stare at each other.

Neither speaks in the beginning but then small questions start taking shape, breaking the silence.

He asks about Trixie. About Linda and Charlie. Ella and Dan.

She asks about Hell, as unsavory the topic may be. He indulges her, providing her with answers that he probably much rather had kept to himself. 

At some point he stretches and rolls his shoulders, a frown taking over his beautiful face.

“Are you okay?” she asks, mirroring his expression.

“Yes, darling I’ll be fine. It’s just that my muscles are a bit sore.”

“I could help with that. I mean I could also leave—“

“You are not bloody leaving because I have a sore back.”

“I could give you a massage then? Well, I could try to at least?”

“A massage? That… that sounds lovely actually,” he says and Chloe swears his cheeks have turned a bit rosy.

She makes him lie properly on the bed, hands by the sides of his head and Chloe is reminded once more that he is _naked_. Like _completely_ naked next to her.

Her mind is going crazy making up a multitude of scenarios that could follow her so called massage.

_Pull yourself together Chloe._

She pulls the blanket up to his lower back, trying to keep some semblance of modesty and straddles him, letting her hands run up his back, fingers digging in his muscles.

He groans.

She bites her lip.

Maybe this wasn’t the brightest of ideas after all.

She repeats the motion a few more times and she is rewarded with satisfied hums and sighs every time. Then she settles a little higher up and lightly strokes from the base of his neck up into his head, rubbing soft circles into his scalp.

He moans.

She takes a deep breath and repeats.

Once satisfied she starts working on his shoulders.

She keeps her strokes light and long at first, becoming familiar with the expanse of his back.

Every now and then she is hit by the fact that he is here, _actually_ here, in the flesh, pinned under her body.

It’s mind-boggling and wonderful and it makes her eyes wet with unshed tears every time.

She has never touched him like this before and she is overwhelmed by the desire to please him, to take care of him.

She starts kneading the muscles of his shoulders, thumbs digging in more insistently whenever she happens across a tension knot. The more her fingers work on him, the more he melts into the mattress, his face the perfect picture of relaxation while his sounds are _quite_ the opposite.

She can feel the strange musculature hiding under his skin and digs her fingers softly there, trying to ease his pain.

“Ooooh _Chloe_ , this is so bloody perfect. Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” She is glad he can’t see the ridiculous smile that has taken over her entire face. “There are a lot of knots here though.”

“Well, yes. My bloody wings’ fault. But your touch is… sublime.” He makes to stand but she pushes him back into the mattress.

“I haven’t finished,” she chastises him and he laughs, mumbling something that she doesn’t quite catch. She glides lower on his body, her own butt pushing the blankets decidedly lower on his thighs.

She tries to ignore the fact that she is sitting on his very _naked_ ass and gets to work, fingers now kneading the muscles of his lower back.

There are groans and praises and all she can think of is that she wants to hear all _this_ in a very different context.

Her eyes trace the patterns his freckles make on his creamy skin, constellations that she is not yet intimate with but she _wants_ to.

So very badly.

When her thumbs brush just under those dimples she decides that maybe it’s enough for now and somewhat unwillingly climbs off of him. He turns to his side and pulls her to him and she tries, she _tries_ not to let her eyes wander to other parts of him.

Tries and fails miserably that is.

Her cheeks warm further and he kisses them, eyes and lips soft.

“Thank you. _Thank you_. No one has ever done that for me. No one has cared for me like that.”

“I want to. Every day. If you’ll have me.”

“If _I_ ’ll have you, Chloe?” he asks, eyes brimming with an incredible tenderness and a sadness than Chloe finds it impossible to grasp. “Darling, I’m _yours_. I just… I didn’t think that you would still… think of me. That you would still want me.”

She cups his cheeks, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, his stubble tickling her skin.

He closes his eyes, relaxing further into her touch, and she kisses his pale eyelids, whispering against his temple her simple truth-much easier to do so now that his eyes are not focused on her.

“I love you. I want you. I have missed you so much Lucifer. I don’t have the words for it.”

Her tears fall on his skin and his lips follow the trails to the source, kissing her eyes, the same way she did only moments ago.

“There has never been anyone like you Chloe,” he says, eyes focused solely on her, far braver than her.

They kiss, with lips and tongue, learning each other in a way they never had the chance to do so in the past. They kiss for the sake of kissing, their lower halves staying determinedly out of the game.

Her hands though, seem to have a mind of their own.

They caress his face, his neck, skim over his collarbones and follow the lines of his shoulders.

They sink into his hair, her fingers scratching his head and then return to his graceful neck before finally settling on his throat and the lines of his jaw.

He brings them to his lips, kissing the pad of each finger slowly, sweetly.

“I love your touch,” he says placing her hand on his cheek and kissing her palm. “And I’ve been without touch for too long.”

“All that time there was no one to…” she trails off, her question suddenly seeming too awkward to continue.

“No. Besides the dangers, there was also the small matter of a certain Detective occupying my mind constantly.”

She kisses him. For, how _couldn’t_ she?

“Can I touch you then?” she asks, hesitant but oh so _eager_.

“You already are, love,” he says with a smile and a frown.

She lets her hand wander lower, over his abdomen, and she can feel the way his muscles tense under her fingertips.

His eyes close on their own volition and he lets out a chuckle that sounds far too nervous for him.

“I-I thought it might be too soon for something like that.”

Well, that’s not a _no_.

“I _really_ want to.”

She sounds too desperate but she doesn’t care.

Maybe she is.

She _is_ desperate for him to enjoy her touch, her kisses-desperate to finally be the one to give him pleasure.

Especially since he is so starved for it.

“Let me take care of you,” she entreats.

His lips crash into hers for a different sort of kiss; one that is passionate and hungry and _quite_ steamy.

It’s a kiss that takes you to places.

“Bloody hell, Chloe. There is nothing, _nothing_ I want more,” he says and returns to her lips, teeth biting and tongue soothing.

“Lay on your stomach.”

He obeys at once. And where his eyes were soft, now they are a blaze, burning only for her.

Her lips and tongue draw the imaginary lines between the stars of his skin, giving life to those constellations that she so loves.

She follows the line of his spine with open mouthed kisses while her fingers leave feather light touches over his ribs.

Then proceeds to lick the dimples over that much admired bum while her hands squeeze those firm muscles.

He moans and curses and she smiles secretly, pleased with herself. She lets her fingers follow the curve of his ass and then lower, cupping his balls while her teeth leave their imprint on that glorious bum, making him curse some more.

He pushes himself upright, his eyes wild, and pulls her on his lap. His hands sink into her hair and he moans brokenly into their kiss when her fingers skim over his erection.

“I’d just like to say,” he gasps, “before you do anything else, that this is definitely not going to be an indication of my usual stamina.”

She laughs against his lips, because of course that is what he is worried about, and he bites her in retaliation, which only makes her laugh more.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he complains, but there is humor in his voice too.

“I promise I’ll help you find your old self Morningstar. No matter what,” she promises, well aware of all the secret nuances her words hold in this moment. “Now, lay back.”

“Um, maybe you could remove some articles of clothing?” he says, fingers at the hem of her t-shirt. “Just to balance things out a bit?”

“Okay,” she agrees, eyes glued to the way he is biting his lower lip, his eyes focused decidedly at a point much lower than her eyes.

She lifts her arms and his hands, warm and large, drag on her skin pushing the fabric up and then off. His hands splay on her ribcage and he stares at her breasts, eyes both reverent and hungry. His fingers trace the lines of her bra and end up at the hook in the front. She covers his hands with hers and kisses him.

“Not now,” she whispers. “Later.”

And that seems to appease the Devil for now. She pushes him on his back again and starts looking for more freckles to kiss.

She lingers at one on his clavicle and then slowly moves lower and lower, lips tracing the bumps of his ribs, tongue dipping in that perfect belly-button.

When she reaches that breathtaking V, she stops to look at him.

The way he stares into her eyes is enough to make her burn incandescent with desire.

She leaves small, open-mouthed kisses along those lines and enjoys the way his muscles tremble, the way his hands clench into fists.

The way that-when her mouth ghosts over his erection and her tongue swipes over the head- his eyes burn crimson for a moment before returning to her beloved brown.

She wraps her lips around him and revels in his moans and his litany of yes-es.

He is hot and heavy in her mouth and his taste, something she had fantasized about again and again, is divine- distinctly masculine and _his_ , simply beyond compare.

She licks, and sucks while her hand pumps him, her tongue swirling over his head, and the sounds that leave his lips are enough to make her throb painfully with want, to make her crave his touch all the more.

She wants to tease him, but Lucifer is already too far gone. So, she pumps faster and sucks harder, hallowing out her cheeks and he curses, thighs and abdomen trembling—

“ _Chloe_ \- darling I—“ he warns her, gasping, and she continues her ministrations until he comes across her tongue with a delicious, long moan.

She keeps kissing and licking, drawing out his orgasm, until the sensation becomes too much and she releases him, kissing his abdomen, just below his navel.

He’s still breathing hard when he stands and pulls her into a searing kiss.

“This,” he whispers, running his thumb over her bottom lip, “my taste in your mouth, has always been one of my most adored fantasies. The real thing though… is infinitely more exquisite, more satiating. You are… unmatched. Incomparable.”

He kisses her, his tongue doing filthy things in her mouth, and she moans wanting more, _always_ more.

“I forbid you to leave me alone like that again,” she says, her voice raw with all the hurt it carries. “Promise me you won’t.”

“I _promise_ Chloe. And I _am_ a Devil of my word. Now… Is it _later_ yet?” he asks with a smile, hands back at her breasts.

_Yes, yes, yes._

“I really, _really_ want to have a bath first. I spent all my night stuck in the car. Care to join me?” she asks coquettishly.

“Oh darling, one can never be _too_ clean!” he says and trails after her to the bathroom.

It’s a long, _long_ shower.

But it’s okay.

They’ve got all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> The title and lyrics are from the song 'Powerful' by Major lazer and Ellie Golding.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!


End file.
